"You look a little pale, Mr. Polonius... Hullo! Why, it's the respectable
old gentleman who has been hanging about the square for some days! So
you belong to the police too, Mr. Polonius? There, there, pull yourself
together, I sha'n't hurt you!... But you see, Clemence, how right my
calculation was. You told me that nine spies had been to the house. I
counted a troop of eight, as I came along, eight of them in the distance,
down the avenue. Take eight from nine and one remains: the one who
evidently remained behind to see what he could see. Ecce homo!"

"Well? And then?" said Lupin, who felt a mad craving to fly at the
fellow and reduce him to silence.

"And then? Nothing at all, my good man... What more do you want? The
farce is over. I will only ask you to take this little note to Master
Prasville, your employer. Clemence, please show Mr. Polonius out. And,
if ever he calls again, fling open the doors wide to him. Pray look
upon this as your home, Mr. Polonius. Your servant, sir!..."

Lupin hesitated. He would have liked to talk big and to come out with a
farewell phrase, a parting speech, like an actor making a showy exit
from the stage, and at least to disappear with the honours of war. But
his defeat was so pitiable that he could think of nothing better than to
bang his hat on his head and stamp his feet as he followed the portress
down the hall. It was a poor revenge.

"You rascally beggar!" he shouted, once he was outside the door, shaking
his fist at Daubrecq's windows. "Wretch, scum of the earth, deputy, you
shall pay for this!... Oh, he allows himself...! Oh, he has the cheek
to...! Well, I swear to you, my fine fellow, that, one of these days..."